A Father to Sons
by StriderX
Summary: Three times Hannibal was a Father and One time the boys were his Sons.  Sometimes all you need is a steady arm around your shoulder.  Rated T for thematic elements and slight language.
1. BA

**A/N:** I've been playing with this idea the last few days...there can never be enough A-Team love, in my humble opinion. *smile* In all, there will be four short, semi-related stories, each dealing with a different main character. Hope you enjoy...I apologize for an grammatical errors; late night writing is good for the juices, not propriety.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own.

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><p><strong>B.A.: The 9th<br>StriderX**

Exhaustion hung like a dark veil over the A-Team van as it rolled through the night. Their last mission had gone over as a complete success (even managing a couple side-jobs in the process) but after two-weeks of planning, conning, fighting, and running, not even Murdock had enough energy to make a peep.

Through the blackness of the late night country road, the only light inside the van was the lazy green glow of the radio clock, slowly turning around early morning hours like an old man walking up stairs. Face and Murdock gave up to sleep hours ago; the youngest curled up tight in his chair while the Captain stretched with fingers laced over his ribs and favorite baseball cap pulled over his eyes.

Hannibal was thankful for the quiet. Sure, he was accustomed to hearing bombs and gunshots and all sorts of terrors, but that didn't mean he didn't like a good bout of quiet either. At the start of the night, he'd hoped to get some sleep since B.A. was adamit about driving. Over and over he alternated closing his eyes and puffing his cigar, a combination that usually sent him right off into Neverland. But tonight…

Every time his eyes peeled open, they shot straight to his second-youngest. B.A. had been scowling and irritable the whole trip, just like normal. He and Murdock had had at least three fights in as many days; one of which may have ended in a broken nose for the Captain had Hannibal not stepped in. This was all normal for the big man...so why couldn't Hannibal get past the nagging feeling that something was wrong?

At nearly 2am, the parental worry grinding at Hannibal's gut shoved him into action. B.A.'s expression was unusually pensive…like something heavy weighed upon his mind. "What's goin' on, big guy?"

Torn from his reverie, B.A. jumped at Hannibal's voice. Though it was barely over a whisper, it sounded to him like a scream over the silence in the air. "Huh?" he grunted in reply, trying to regain his driving focus.

"Everything alright? You don't seem yourself," Hannibal would never try to prod B.A. when Face or Murdock were listening. Of course they cared and they would always listen just as well as Hannibal but…it just didn't _feel_ right. B.A. was a private man and seemed incapable of sharing his feelings to any crowd over one.

Sighing, B.A. shrugged. For a moment, he thought about making up some lame excuse to evade the Colonel's questions but then he remembered: even _Face_ couldn't con Hannibal with a mask. "It's been a _long_ couple weeks, Hannibal," his voice was deep, accent tired.

Hannibal nodded, holding an unlit cigar between his fingers. "Sure has. But! At least we got paid this time," he smirked toward the case filled with $150,000 cash.

B.A. tried to return the grin…he really did. But…

"Come on, B.A. What's wrong?" Hannibal's smile faded, replaced with a concerned frown.

B.A. hated it when Hannibal frowned. It was such a deep and unnatural thing. Another sigh. "I dunno, man…it's just…it's October 9th, man,"

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, hoping the silent question would be enough. It was.

"October 9th's the day my dad left my ma…" B.A. shook his head like he was at war with whether he should've spoken at all. "It's been 20 years, but Momma never forgets. She sends cookies. I send flowers," Hannibal didn't miss the shame coating B.A.'s voice. If the Sergeant's expression got any deeper, Hannibal swore he'd blend right in to the shadows.

The realization hit Hannibal before B.A. could even bring himself to admit it. They'd been on the run all week. The majority of today (technically, now, yesterday) was wasted skidding pavement and popping lead just getting away with their lives. B.A. never had a chance to send any flowers.

"Momma needs those flowers, Hannibal. She needs 'em and I let'er down."

Deep, heartfelt sadness warmed Hannibal's heart. On instinct, he reached over and squeezed B.A.'s shoulder with a rarely-ungloved hand. "You saved my life today, B.A. I know your mother will understand," Hannibal had met Ms. Baracas. Holding a grudge over her only child was simply not something she could do.

"I know, man, I know. That's what makes it worse," B.A.'s voice was tight in regret. Hannibal hadn't heard that tone since the incident in Nam that ended with B.A. holding the gun and some friendly wet-nosed kid with a shot through the leg. "She's done everythin' for me, Hannibal. I can't even send 'er flowers right on the day she needs 'em."

Hannibal kept his hand over B.A.'s shoulder. He was quiet for a while, chewing on that unlit cigar. Hannibal was a planner, a commander, and a fighter…not a father. Comforting words never came easy to him. But, just like a perfect plan in an armory with no guns, somehow the words always found themselves. "Where are we?"

"Wha'?" the question caught the big guy off guard. He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts, he nearly forgot he was driving. "Oh, umm…some ways outside'a St. Louis, I think."

"Good. Turn north."

B.A. did a double take. "Hannibal, whach'ya thinkin', man?"

Hannibal grinned. "I'm thinkin' Chicago's only about 300 miles from here," for a second, Hannibal relished the pure disbelief on B.A.'s face. It was like looking at a child, telling him that that bike he'd been wanting all year was waiting in his bedroom. "You've got'ta Momma who'd love to see her son, and Murdock's been dying for some of her pie. It's a win-win, big guy,"

B.A. was still reeling. "Wha' about Face? He's ain't gon'na be happy when he wakes up farther from home then we is now."

Hannibal chuckled. "He'll get over it. Come'on B.A., let's get turned around and see if we can't find an all-night flower shop on the way."

And suddenly B.A. was grinning; a big toothy grin with something akin to moisture in his eyes. "Aw, Hannibal, thank you, man. Really. I owe you big time, man."

Giving the boy's shoulder one last pat before bringing his arm back to rest on his chair, Hannibal matched the grin with cigar held in teeth. "We'll call it even. But you _will_ owe me for playing defense on Murdock once we get there."

B.A. chuckled happily and Hannibal knew he'd done the right thing. Yeah, they'd be a day or so late getting home, but after war and running for some fifteen years, any delay was worth seeing _his_ boys okay.

**TBC**

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><p><strong>AN:** Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated. I'll post the second tomorrow, Friday. Your teaser: Murdock.


	2. Murdock

**A/N:** A big thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far...you guys are great! Without further ado, I give you Murdock. Enjoy :)

**Disclaimer**: Still don't own.

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><p><strong>Murdock: Juices<strong>  
><strong>Strider<strong>

Hannibal swore sometimes they spent more time in B.A.'s van than anywhere else. After an eighteen hour drive, they all tumbled out of the thing kissing the ground. Hannibal sighed. Yeah, he loved the jazz and he loved their work, but dangit, he was getting too old for these stiff treks across country. The funny thing was, of all of them Hannibal was faring the best.

B.A. was quite nearly falling asleep at the wheel. After Face and Hannibal totaled the clients' car on the last mission, he would rather drive in his sleep then trust his baby with them. Murdock would have been a perfect alternative, had he not slept through most of the drive.

Early on in the week, Hannibal noticed a subtle change in his Captain. There was no alter-ego, very few zany epiphanies, and the only evidence of _Billy_ was Murdock's steady petting motion whenever he his hand was free. B.A. had been thrilled; peace and quiet! But Face noticed it, too. Hannibal saw the Lieutenant approach Murdock about it earlier, but the crazy man appeared to rant off about chickens in the fox den, and then proceeded to burst into song. Face's glare caught Hannibal's eye. His turn.

When they finally arrived back in L.A., Hannibal opted to take Murdock back to the V.A. under the rouse that B.A. needed sleep and Face had a date…which he did, of course.

Murdock nodded calmly and said his peace to the boys before hopping into Hannibal's car. It was a beater of a thing, but it smelled just like Hannibal's cigars, and that made it comforting to the Captain.

As the sun settled low on the city skyline, Murdock burrowed into the passenger seat and watched Hannibal plop behind the wheel and start the car.

Silence enveloped the air for ten minutes before Hannibal spoke. "How ya' doin', Captain?"

"Hmm?" Murdock was caught by surprise. It seemed he'd been in another world while staring out the window. Turning to the Colonel, he smiled softly. Hannibal noted the sadness there. "Oh yeah, 'm good, Colonel. Just sleepy, is all."

Hannibal's brow furrowed. His gaze crept from the crowded streets to Murdock. "You slept almost the whole ride home…" he was hoping his tone would suit as an invitation for Murdock to open up. If the younger man picked up on it, he chose to ignore it, opting instead to lose himself through the window again.

It was exactly then Hannibal knew what he needed to do. Altering course, he head away from the V.A., toward the ocean.

Murdock noticed, but didn't speak. Maybe the boss had an errand to run? Honestly, he just wanted to get _home_ to his comfy hospital bed, to his toys and video games but…if the Colonel was being kind enough to drive him there, Murdock sure as heck could stand an errand or two.

Fifteen minutes later found them pulling into a worn old parking lot just off the boardwalk. Hannibal grinned at his cleverness when he caught the slight glisten in Murdock's features when he realized where they were.

The ice cream shop was a tiny little drive-in joint left over from the 50s. One of the last original buildings on this side of town, it was jerry-rigged and held together with duct tape, but there was no denying it; there was no better ice cream in all of L.A. And possibly the _only_ joint that happily agreed to make Murdock's favorite: chocolate-vanilla-strawberry milkshake with cookie dough, peanut butter, potato chips, walnuts, and two cherry's on top.

As Hannibal leaned through the window to the ordering box beside their parking spot, Murdock dared a little smile. Oooh boy, he could _really_ use that milkshake right about now.

"One small vanilla in a cone and one crazyman special, please," Hannibal ordered into the mike. Murdock grinned when the girl taking their order giggled through the speaker.

"That you, Mr. H?" a young, friendly voice came through.

Hannibal chuckled. "Hiya, Molly, how's business?"

They could practically _feel_ the girl's grin through the microphone. It'd been about a year ago now, but the family of _Moo's_ had never diminished their gratefulness for the A-Team's help in keeping their old business alive. "Wonderful, thanks! Just you and Mr. Murdock today?"

In that moment, Murdock broke from his silence to laugh. "Yup! Just us today kiddo…don't forget my cherries please!"

The girl giggled again. "Wouldn't dream of it…I'll be out in just a minute!"

"Aw, Colonel," Murdock grinned. "How'd you know?"

The grin on Hannibal's face was priceless. "Don't I always?"

"Got that right, muchacho!"

It was a flash before they spotted a tiny teenage girl roller skating out to their car. The grin lighting up her face was only matched by poofy blue dress and bobbing red pig-tails. "Here ya' go, guys!" she called as she rounded to the driver's window. As she handed them their orders, she named them proudly. "A crazyman special for you," handing Murdock a huge Styrofoam cup with straw and spoon. "And small vanilla cone for you," this she gave to Hannibal along with a small stack of napkins.

Instantly Hannibal moved to pay her but she waved him off. "You know you're money's no good here, Mr H. On the house."

Hannibal smirked and handed her the money anyway. "Call it a tip then. Thanks, kid."

The girl nodded her thanks and gave a wave before skating away, back into the shop.

For a while, Hannibal believed the ice cream had healed whatever ill had been plaguing his boy. But little by little, as Murdock sipped and scooped, his childlike grin faded and melancholy filled his eyes like storm clouds circling.

_Just a little longer_, Hannibal reminded himself. Murdock never liked to share his deepest feelings, but he was never one who could hold it in for long, either.

Then, suddenly, the pilot sniffled. "Hey Hannibal?" he ventured, unsure and quiet.

_Finally! _Inside Hannibal cheered; outside he was the model of loving concern, waiting for the boy to continue.

"C-can I…ask you somethin'?" his lovable Texan drawl thickened with his anxiety.

"Of course, Murdock. What's on your mind?" instantly Hannibal put the ice cream aside; he no longer needed the diversion.

Murdock was silent for so long Hannibal almost thought he'd changed his mind. The Captain wouldn't look at him; his gaze was fixed into the menagerie of sweets stuffed in his cup. The two cherries had burst, their rich red juice pouring over the frozen cream. His voice was thick when he finally spoke again. "What do you think it takes…to make a man…t-take his own life?"

Hannibal's eyes widened, he couldn't help it. A question like that was among the last anyone wanted to hear from a boy you thought to be your son. Forcing himself to think over emotion and worry, he tried to find the best words. "I wouldn't know Murdock…but I'd imagine a lot of it comes from fear."

Murdock still wouldn't look at him. Only nodded a little and tilted the cup in his hands, watching the ruby red juice spill from side to side.

Hannibal's heart was pounding harder in his chest then it had during any firefight. His heart was screaming to speak, but his mind implored him to wait…don't jump to any conclusions. "Why do you ask?" nothing could hide the apprehension in his words.

Murdock shrugged.

"Have you…been having those kinds of thoughts, Murdock?" the Colonel coaxed lightly, every fiber of his being screaming for answers.

Abruptly, Murdock's head shot up and he met Hannibal's gaze with wide, frantic eyes. "No no no! Not me! I mean…n-not _really_. That's n-not what I meant," Murdock was fumbling for words so bad it made Hannibal's heart sink. The younger man had turned in his seat with one leg up on the chair, the cup stuck in the crevasse behind his knee.

Hannibal spotted the blood red cherries and briefly wondered if they were a trigger.

Murdock's eyes lowered again as he tried to find the words. "Another patient in the V.A…a friend of mine…you remember Cal Hartnet?" his eyes lifted, expression like he was asking about last night's dinner. "He flew with the medics in Nam," when Hannibal shook his head, Murdock shrugged; he didn't think Hannibal had known him. "T-they found him just before Face came to bust me out…he'd…" Murdock stuck the ice cream with his straw over and over, the juices pooling in the dessert.

Hannibal knew what was coming and sighed sadly.

"He…he killed himself, Hannibal…he was a good guy, a _really_ good guy. He just…couldn't…couldn't shake the memories…couldn't forget…" Murdock's breathing grew rapid even as his voice cracked and failed him. When he dared to meet Hannibal's eyes, Hannibal almost wished he could look away. Those big, innocent, puppy eyes were shimmering with tears unshed and losses unmourned.

"Aw, Murdock," he didn't know what to say…there was nothing to say. Only a loving hand to place over the boy's quivering shoulder; an act that gave Murdock the strength to continue on.

"He wasn't crazy, Hannibal. He just couldn't…" the words died away as the first tear tumbled over thick brown lashes. His eyes were pouring through Hannibal's soul, searching for answers, begging for help. "W-what if it happens to me too?"

The pure, desperate question left Hannibal feeling his heart implode with helplessness. Overcome, he tossed the forgotten ice cream cone aside and reached to wrap both hands around Murdock's shoulders. They were face-to-face in the worn old sedan, Murdock's tears pouring down his cheeks, a distinct tremble hanging in Hannibal's chest. "No, Murdock. Nothing like that will ever happen to you."

"How do you know? They say I'm even crazier than he was…and Hannibal…I'm a-afraid too…what if…what—"

Hannibal could see his boys' teetering on the edge of hysterics and knew before all else he had to pull him back. "Murdock, Murdock!" he shook him slightly, waiting till the Captain looked at him, his eyes heartbreaking. "Now, you listen to me, I will never let _anything_ happen to you, you got that? You have nothing to be afraid of. I'm always gon'na be there to protect you, no matter what."

Internally, Hannibal hoped that was a promise he could really keep.

Murdock had quieted, but the tears still trickled. "You mean it?" his voice was akin to a small child who'd just been told the favorite toy that had been broken could be fixed.

Hannibal forced himself to smile brightly. With fatherly strength, he squeezed Murdock's thin shoulders and hoped his eyes could relay all the thoughts he didn't know how to express. "You remember that job we pulled in Cambodia? When you were shot and tried to convince us we should leave you behind?"

Murdock nodded, sniffling.

"I—none of us—would dessert you then, and I sure as hell am _not_ gon'na leave you now. Whenever you need me, Murdock, you just call and I _will_ be there, no matter what."

The love in Hannibal's expression was nearly too much for the haggard pilot to bear. With a smile somewhere between a sob and a laugh, Murdock reached out and engulfed the Colonel in a trembling hug. "Thanks, Hannibal…I mean, really…_thank you_."

With rare affection, Hannibal embraced the younger man back, taking the moment to blink back his own rouge emotion.

And just like that, Murdock was _Murdock_ again as he pulled back and grinned brightly, wiping away his tears and stuffing a mound of ice cream in his mouth. Seconds later, mock pain erupted over his features and he cringed. "Oooo...brain freeze!"

Hannibal smiled and shook his head. _His_ special boy.

**TBC**

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><p><strong><span>AN**: Thanks for reading! Your next teaser: Face.


	3. Face

**A/N:** I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this :) I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. I tried to stay true to Face's character as much as B.A.'s and Murdock's. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Don't own

**Warnings:** One curse in this chapter. I don't like cursing...but it was necessary.

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><p><strong>Face: Chilled Eggs<br>StriderX**

There's only one way to put it. Hannibal was exhausted. With two week-long missions back-to-back, he felt like he'd either fall asleep sitting up or pass out into the dashboard. Either way, he didn't really care, so long as he was _home_. He almost chuckled, almost. What even was home anymore? They all (with the exception of Murdock) had a tendency to pick up a new place every couple weeks. This last condo was just one in a string of many, but inside was a bed, a box of cigars, and his favorite coffee. These days, that was all he needed to feel warmth again.

He'd been glancing at his team, like he often did, throughout their trip home. B.A. was snoring softly from the backseat of the van, his shot foot making driving an impossibility for a few weeks, much to the wheelman's dismay. Hannibal smirked when he remembered the big guy's expression when Doc Sullivan told them the news.

Murdock was sprawled out on the squished floor space, feet tilted oddly on the chair; the sound of his humming a far off tune in his sleep rocked the van like a lullaby. To this, Hannibal's head shook…what'a guy.

In the back, Amy Allen was curled up on the cushion dozing off even as her pen scribbled over her reporter's notebook. Hannibal had to admit, the kid had spunk. If there were ever to be a female that belonged with them, she was it. She'd been a trooper the whole week; not a single peep or whine, not even when an arrow grazed her left arm. He sighed. This marked the first time she'd been injured under his watch. Part of him wished she'd stop coming with them…he couldn't bear losing her; she'd become nearly as much of a child to him as the boys.

Letting his gaze wander front, he caught Face just finish a deep yawn from behind the wheel. Shaking his head, the Lieutenant lightly smacked his cheeks, apparently trying to keep himself awake. They were ten minutes from home now at ten-past-two in the morning; otherwise Hannibal would've forced the kid to stop for the night. Vaguely, Hannibal noticed how worn the Lieutenant looked. Under the black and blue hollowing his cheekbones and stitched gash over his right brow, the kid looked like he'd been going seven days straight. What worried him is he knew it wasn't far from the truth.

Two weeks ago Face had whined of a cold and for a while; he'd had the nasally voice to prove it. Of course it went away within a few days, but the slight glisten of fever never completely faded. Now, in hindsight, Hannibal wondered if he'd pushed the kid too hard_…again_. He really didn't know why he always felt the need to push the poor boy so close to his limits. Maybe it was because he'd known him so long—he knew the best way to keep Face happy was to keep him challenged, leave no time to stop and ponder what _should have been_ or _could have been_. Hannibal shuddered as he remembered when he first met the barely-legal private tumbling into war full-speed ahead with desperation flooding his eyes. To this day, Hannibal was sure the kid would be dead if he hadn't been assigned to his command.

It certainly wasn't because the kid was weak though, despite whatever he may have led Face to believe. He may not be the best in a fist fight compared to B.A. or Murdock, but man, was he fast and _clever_. Hannibal had learned a long time ago that while Face may put on a _weak_ show in order to get out of getting dirty, there was _nothing_ weak about the man. He proved it time and again in Vietnam; one time in particular when he was lost behind enemy lines for seven days. When they'd finally found him, he was carrying a man twice his size, half-dead with starvation and delirium and shot in three places, but still standing, still fighting.

By the time Hannibal snapped out of his memories, Face was pulling the van into the parking lot outside Hannibal's condo. They'd agreed earlier in the night that the Colonel's place was closest and had the most space. They'd all crash there tonight.

As Face turned off the van and stretched, Hannibal turned around, regretting having to wake his kids. "Rise and shine, kids. We're home," he called just loudly enough to rouse them.

"Aw, Hannibal…" moaned Murdock. "Can't we just sleep here? I don't wan'na get up."

"It's getting cold, Murdock. Come on inside where there's some heat."

It was true. Without the heater running in the van, the temperature was already dropping rapidly. The point was proven when Face yanked open the van's side door in order to help B.A. The big guy scowled at the cold.

Hardly a word (at least intelligible) was spoken along the short trek to the condo. Sleepily, Hannibal unlocked the door and flicked on a dim light for his team to see by. First Murdock with eyes closed, then Amy looking a little pale, then B.A. limping along as a silent Face supported him. Before rooms could even be called, the kids were crashed. The guest room found two twin beds filled, one with Amy, the other with Murdock. B.A. passed out on the couch; he'd gone as far as he could.

Hannibal noticed Face lingering by the balcony door for just a moment before falling into a recliner and sighing deeply. Hannibal's head shook. That wouldn't do at all.

"Come on now, Lieutenant. There's a king bed in my room. You'll be much more comfortable there," Hannibal moved toward him, but Face shook his head.

"'m good here, Hann'ble," he mumbled, already fading away. "Somebody's got'ta stay near B.A. anyway…"

Hannibal shrugged and walked away toward his room, trying to swallow the deep feeling that something was wrong that he couldn't see...

Eight a.m. came all too soon that morning. Sure, on normal circumstances, Hannibal could never sleep in so late, but today…just _once_ he wished he could overcome his body's internal clock. He'd been ignoring it since 6am, but the pestering voice inside had simply become too much to bear. That, and the warm scent of eggs and bacon had been teasing his nose long enough.

Dragging his sore limbs up and down the hall, he peaked in the spare room. Murdock and Amy were still fast asleep: Murdock half hanging off the too-small bed and Amy curled into a loose ball under the sheets. As he reached the living room, he noted B.A. resting peacefully on the couch, what appeared to be a fresh bandage wrapped about his foot.

His brow furrowed when he glanced over at the recliner he'd expected to find Face curled in. He always smiled when Face slept. Tougher then nails and always the lady's man, his youngest never failed to curl into the tightest ball possible when asleep. It was only then that his true age showed. But not today…in the recliner, there was no Face. No blanket. The chair didn't even show _signs_ of being slept in. This alarmed the Colonel.

Now fighting that old parental anxiety, Hannibal strove to maintain his calm when he noted the open-kitchen was empty; a used pan and egg shells the only signs of life.

Suddenly, as quickly as the rush surged, it ebbed and faded when his sharp eyes caught a tuft of blonde hair through the balcony doors.

Moving quietly, Hannibal slid open the glass panel and stepped into the cool autumn air. Face didn't turn to greet him, just kept staring out over the skyline from his place on the deck chair. There was a plate of food behind his feet, abandoned, untouched. Internally, Hannibal nodded. _Definitely_ something wrong.

"A little early for catchin' rays, isn't it Face?" Hannibal tried to coax the kid out lightly, but he hoped Face picked up on the deeper questions there.

Face smirked like a ghost. "Not all rays are sunlight, Hannibal," his voice was deep and deafeningly silent. There was emotion there Hannibal hadn't heard in years…emotion he'd hoped never to hear again.

Instantly he pulled up another chair and sat close—not _too_ close—to his youngest, trying to angle himself so he could see the kid's eyes; a feat Face wasn't making easy.

"You wan'na tell me what's been eatin' on you?" he hadn't meant it as a double meaning when he said it, but after the words came out, Hannibal noticed the signs of weight loss narrowing Face's features. The kid didn't _have_ any weight to lose.

"Not particularly."

Hannibal sighed. If there was one fault Face had, it was his unhealthy refusal to let _anything_ out until he was about to collapse (or already had). Absently, the Colonel wondered if Face was close enough to it to be broken down.

_Maybe a different tactic_, Hannibal pondered. "Good to be home, isn't it?"

Face snorted sarcastically. "Yeah, _home_. Sure is."

There was silence for a moment. Hannibal took the opportunity to take in Face's appearance in full. The kid looked terrible, even worse than last night. Judging by the look of things, he imagined Face never did really fall asleep. The bruises on his face were darkening to a putrid purple; from what he could see, his eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. His hair was scruffy and lengthening. From the way his bangs stuck up at odd angles, Hannibal guessed he'd been running his hands through his hair again, like he always does when bothered. Looking down, he caught the carefully measured breath of a man desperately trying to stay in control. In slightly trembling hands, Hannibal noticed a crumpled piece of paper; he knew this was the key to the ailments of his boy. Somehow, he had to see that paper.

Lowering his gaze, he lingered on the untouched meal. He wondered now just how many meals Face had missed recently…behind the far leg of the chair he caught something he hadn't seen before: a liquor glass, empty.

Hannibal's heart sank. Face never drank hard liquor…not since Nam…not since _that night_.

He couldn't take the silence any more. "Com'on Face…please talk to me. I know something's hurting you but I can't help if I don't know what it is."

"I never asked for your help, Hannibal. So, _please_, just drop it. I'll be fine."

Face's lie was rather unconvincing and they both knew it.

Then, suddenly, Face sighed, and shot out a hand containing the crumpled paper. "I found this in my jacket after we left last week."

Hannibal took the ball and carefully unfolded it. Part of him was thrilled Face was cooperating; most of him was worried at what would come next.

As the paper crackled open, Hannibal gazed upon the short, handwritten note scribbled in the center.

_Temp, _it read. _Or maybe your name's Ashley or Al or Faceman…whatever the case I know who you are. You LIED to me, you bastard. I know who you are and what you've done. I NEVER want to see you again. If you try calling me or seeing me, I will call the army again just like I did this morning. You are despicable…you DESERVE to be locked away. _

Hannibal couldn't help the burn in his heart as the wicked words poured out…or the icy hitch to his breath as he read the end:

_Yours truly, the woman you'll never have, Helena._

Tentatively, Hannibal looked up at Face, who seemed to be rapidly losing his hold. The kid shook his head, eyes fixed out to the sky; a trembling hand ran over his hair. "I'm sorry, Hannibal. I-I messed up again. She's the who called Decker last week."

So much had happened over the last seven days; Hannibal had almost forgotten the little scuffle they had before take-off at the airstrip. Searching through his memories, he remembered thinking Face seemed a little out of it, quiet and downtrodden. He remembered asking Face how the conman's condo scheme would hold up while they were away. The Lieutenant had sidestepped the question, saying he was tired of the view anyway.

Now, looking back, it all made sense. Hannibal sighed. Yeah, maybe it was Face's _very_-ex flame that ratted them out, but it didn't seem to him that Face really had anything to do with it, this time. It didn't matter anyway. Clearly the kid was suffering enough. He didn't know much about this Helena girl, but he knew it was the first time in a _long_ time Face allowed himself to use the word "girlfriend". Relationships, _complications_; they were just something Face didn't allow for…normally.

"Aw, kid, I'm sorry…you two were going out a while, weren't you?"

Face sighed, deep and shuddering. "Three months, if you can believe it. I really thought we had something, Hannibal…" he paused for a moment, trying to find the words. "I think I…I hadn't felt that way about a girl since Leslie."

Hannibal frowned. That Leslie chick was the whole reason Face ended up in the middle of a war in the first place. He knew from experience: a broken-hearted Face was a landmine waiting to be trampled.

Face turned just enough for Hannibal to catch the tears building behind the younger sea blue eyes. "I'm just so tired of the lies, you know? Over ten years, Hannibal…" the kid snorted a cynical laugh. "Instead of waking up with nightmares of bodies and bombs, now every time I close my eyes I'm haunted by white picket fences and happy children. Pathetic, right?"

When he finally turned to meet Hannibal's gaze head-on, the Colonel suddenly wished he'd turn away. Those piercing crystal eyes; he was just as bad as Murdock…so lost, so hopeless. "I can't sleep…every time I eat I lose it. When will it stop, Colonel? What did we do to deserve all this?"

Hannibal felt his heart break. If only he knew. "I don't know, kiddo, but I _do_ know that it _will_ stop…one day soon, we will be free. I promise you that."

"How?"

The broken question hung in the air like a blizzard around March.

Carefully, Hannibal placed a gentle hand over Face's shoulders and sighed. "I don't know, kid. But we'll find a way. We've just got'ta hang on a little longer," he let the sad comfort hang for a long minute before squeezing Face lightly. "But you're going to have to start eating again, Face. And sleeping might be a good idea, too."

Numbly, Face nodded, running a hand over his eyes. "I know…" he broke in a sad laugh that came out more of a choke. "I'm so tired."

"Tell you what, nobody's up yet, why don't you go climb into my bed and get some sleep. I'll be here if you need me, and when you get up maybe we can see about a little food, huh?"

Face's expression seemed uneasy, but at least it was less desolate. "Thanks, Hannibal. Ha…sorry I'm such a baby," he added under his breath, but clear enough that Hannibal heard.

The Colonel smiled. Even in doubt, Face would always be Face. "Ha! Face, you're nothin' compared to what B.A.'s going to be when he finally wakes up. We never did tell him just _how_ we got back to the van from Honduras."

It encouraged Hannibal to see Face smirk; even if it was sad and small…at least it was honest.

Then, for a moment, he lingered between the balcony and the living room. Hannibal watched him out of the corner of his eye; the last words Face uttered were always the heart of it. "I didn't even get a chance to explain…" came the broken whisper.

Hannibal nodded but said nothing. Maybe he'd lighten up on berating Face's skirt-chasing for a while…clearly _love_ wasn't working out so well for the poor kid.

As Face meandered inside, forgetting his cold plate and empty glass in his exhaustion, Hannibal settled to peer out over the growing day. Pulling out a cigar he shook his head.

_His_ boys.

**TBC**

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><p><strong><span>AN:** As always, thanks for reading! Please review if you'd like. One more chapter to go...your sneak-peak: Hannibal.


	4. Hannibal pt 1

**A/N:** Hello friends! Two things: Firstly, I am _so_ sorry for the ridiculous uploading delay. I know its cliche, but my laptop had a near-fatal heart attack that has left him in long-term ICU. The doctor seems to think he'll make a full recovery, but it will take time. I was right in the middle of this chapter when it happened...thankfully I was able to get a copy of the harddrive a couple days ago.

Secondly, I've decided to turn Hannibal's chapter into three as it grew in length and instensity rather rapidly. Hopefully it'll be worth the wait!

**Disclaimer****:** Don't own.

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><p><strong>Hannibal: Pt 1<br>Responsibility  
>StriderX<strong>

He could feel himself fading a little bit with each step. Over and over he turned the plan about his mind; there was no reason for it to have gone wrong. Where on earth did a bunch of illiterate miners in the back desert of Utah get AK-47's anyway?

Furious, he shook his head as if trying to dizzy the frustration into submission. Alas, when his eyes caught focus again, the blatant failure of his plan was still there, still hovering just behind view.

Of course none of the boys mentioned it. Rifling through the wilderness, still ten miles from the nearest town (or chopper), they all had enough time to realize the screw-up wasn't Hannibal's fault. There was no way they could've expected men who, just yesterday were throwing rocks at them, to now possess weapons enough for a small war. Murdock figured it was because they were in cahoots with the Space Hamsters; when he said so B.A. nearly rung his throat. Face shook his head. Hannibal found himself ignoring them all.

They'd managed to complete the mission in the end, _barely_. The job was to destroy the illegal mine so it could never be used again and rescue the husband/wife team held captive inside.

Amidst the surprise bullets and well-tossed grenades, Hannibal had thrown the captives into the only jeep and told them to high-tail it back to town and never look back. Truthfully, he wasn't then sure he and the Team would make it out. The burning throb deep in his right shoulder made him realize just how close they'd come.

A mile into their dusty hike back to town, Hannibal hovered at the rear of the team under the rouse of "rear guard". It wasn't normal for him to keep behind, but the boys nodded anyway; they were beat, who cared about the order? Hannibal focused on each boy, fighting desperately to keep his vision clear.

B.A. was just ahead of him, a rifle slung over his big shoulder and dust and grim coating his cargo pants and tank. A few minor scraps bled against his dark skin, but Hannibal imaged the big guy didn't even feel them.

Murdock was next; he always stayed near B.A. when possible. Hannibal could've grinned…under different circumstances. Murdock idolized B.A. like a boy to his favorite star. In Murdock's eyes, B.A. could do no wrong. As for the Captain's health, he was fine: all arms and legs bouncing in the wind just like always. He had a rifle in his hand and two pistols shoved into the back-waistband of his pants. Hannibal could tell from his walk that the Captain was on alert, ready for any attack.

Face took the front guard, steady rifle waiting at the ready in his strong hands. There was a mildly impressive gash dripping red down the kid's left arm, but nothing to worry about. Hannibal wasn't sure how it happened, but he imagined it was going to need a good clean and stitch. Maybe—

Hannibal's thoughts caught in his throat as his ankle gave out atop the odd angle of a misplaced step. Rapidly, he caught himself and stood as tall as possible, attempting to play off the noise by kicking a mound of small pebbles.

"You al'ight, Hannibal?" came B.A.'s quiet voice in front of him. Of course the man hadn't been fooled…Hannibal cursed inside.

"Yeah. Fine," his reply was terse and tight as he tried to fight the wave of agony coursing through him. B.A. seemed appeased; he shrugged and turned back around to keep walking. For this, Hannibal was grateful. Taking a few deep breaths, the Colonel attempted to regain control of his fading limbs. A part of his mind screamed out for rest, to stop…even if for just a minute. But then the boys would know something was wrong. He wouldn't be able to keep it from them then.

And he _had_ to keep it from them. _He_ was their leader, their commander; _he_ was _their_ strength…not the other way around.

But they were not blind, either.

It was B.A. who noticed it first, being the closest. At the three-mile mark, he heard Hannibal's breathing thicken but shrugged it off; they were hiking through a wasteland: hot, dry; miserable. They were all breathing a little hard at that point. It wasn't until thirty-minutes later that B.A. realized something was wrong. Somewhere around four-miles, Hannibal's breathing had weakened from working pant to a wet, painful wheeze. The Sergeant stopped immediately and spun; Hannibal was lagging behind the group, trying desperately to keep up, but finding agony painted on his face instead. B.A. could see the gears working in the Colonel; he could see the fight he was putting up.

"Hannibal? You okay man?" the hitched concern in B.A.'s tone caught Murdock and Face's attention instantly. As they rushed to him, Hannibal put up a hand to wave them off.

"I'm fi—" the lie died on his lips as one last burst of pain rippled over his nerves and sent his brain into overdrive. Like clockwork, it shut down—protecting itself—leaving Hannibal to pitch forward expecting nothing but the dusty crash of rock and sand.

B.A. was so close, he could almost touch the Colonel; when he went down, B.A. caught him far before Hannibal could hit the ground.

"Hannibal!" B.A. yelped when the Colonel began a slow-motion collapse. Despite his size, B.A. moved like a flash to catch the man before he hit the ground. Positioning his bent legs under Hannibal's head, B.A. took quick notice of the sweat and fever hanging on his C.O.'s brow. Panicking, B.A.'s eyes shot for help. "Face! Murdock! Some'in's wrong wit' Hannibal!"

All Hannibal could hear was a blur as he felt familiar hands rummage over his bruised old body, searching for the hidden ail he couldn't come to describe. His eyes were open and blinking sluggishly, but all he saw was shapes and shadows.

As B.A. was pleading, Face and Murdock were already rushing to his side. They moved fluidly, instantly switching back to the war training of old. There was protocol for things like this. Find a pulse. Find, clean, bandage the wound. Keep moving. Above all else, _never_ think. Thinking breeds emotion and an emotional soldier was a liability, not a help.

With trembling hands, Face fought the urge to look into Hannibal's clouding eyes as he grappled at Colonel's black shirt and ripped. He couldn't control the gasp that came…none of them could. There, just below Hannibal's collarbone, just inside his right shoulder, was a bleeding mass of a round bullet hole eating through his skin. From the quick survey, it looked like Hannibal had tried to patch it himself when no one was looking; a wad of cloth was stuffed around the wound, dripping with crimson.

Face frowned deeply. _Why didn't he say anything sooner? _"Uh…Al-alright…" he stumbled, finding difficulty in detaching the closest thing any of them had to a father from the bullet hole spurting red like a paint can. Frantically he looked to B.A. and Murdock for help. "We got'ta...um…we got'ta get this bandaged and g-get him to a hospital, _fast_."

Murdock was somewhere between anger and tears. "Aw, Hannibal…he's not gon'na make it the other six miles to town, Face," the team's face's fell as the truth of Murdock's words sunk in. As far as they were concerned, Hannibal shouldn't have been able to make it _four_ miles…let alone _ten_.

"We got'ta do somethin' fool…this is Hannibal! He needs help _now!_"

Murdock's glare hit B.A. like a ton of bricks. "You don't think I know that, B.A.? Look. You and Face stay with him, do what you can to keep him stable, I'll run ahead to town and grab that chopper we saw this morning."

The moment, for Murdock, was the closest thing to proven sanity as the world would ever see. Hardly waiting for a reply, the pilot took one last, desperate glace at Hannibal's fading eyes and took off in a twirl of dust as fast as his legs could take him.

"Okay…" Face nodded, sweat bouncing on his trembling nerves. "Right…Hannibal?" he leaned close to the older man. "Can you hear me? I need your help here."

With an agonizing slowness that B.A. tried to black out of his mind, Hannibal pulled his glassy blue eyes open, searching for the calling voice.

"That's it, Colonel," Face encouraged, feeling himself daring a smile.

Slowly, Hannibal seemed to regain the lucidity that had briefly left him. It infuriated B.A. when the man actually _grinned_. "Nnnm…guess this would be a bad time to tell you that plan didn't exactly come together, huh?"

"You was shot, fool! Why didn't you say somethin'?" B.A. roared; Hannibal felt it even through the man's legs bent up under the Colonel's head.

"Cuz' I was _fine_ until about five minutes ago," Hannibal smirked in his lie. He knew B.A. didn't buy it; he didn't have to. The point was diversion, not persuasion. If B.A. was _angry_ with him, that wouldn't leave him much time to panic with worry.

"When were you shot, Hannibal?"

When Hannibal looked to Face, he saw his Lieutenant stepping into command like he belonged there. Despite his pain, Hannibal's heart swelled with pride.

"Hannibal?" the Colonel realized he must've forgotten to answer Face's question…everything was so hazy…

"Em…"he delayed until the inquiry popped back into his head. "One of the last miner's got me with a lucky shot…not more than…how long have we been walking?"

"About an hour," Face sighed.

"Right. No longer than an hour and a half. B.A.," Hannibal looked up at the Sergeant's anxious, scowling face (which from his position meant looking right up the man's nose). "Help me up. We've got'ta make it to town," then, looking around past face, frowned. "Where's Murdock?"

Face placed a firm hand on Hannibal's unharmed shoulder and held it there. It felt strange…this was usually Hannibal's job; Face wasn't entirely sure how to handle it. "Murdock went ahead to town for a chopper. We're waiting here," when Hannibal opened his mouth to protest, Face shooed him with a pointed finger. "No arguments, Hannibal."

An awkward silence hung around them as Hannibal glared at Face, trying to wrap his mind around the surreal role-reversal of his Lieutenant.

Sensing it, B.A. attempted to change the subject. "We got'ta get that wound clean man. You're gon'na get an infection."

Face broke away from Hannibal's piercing stare with difficulty but did succeed with a slight shake. "B.A.'s right, Hannibal," reaching to the small canteen secured to his belt, Face removed the lid carefully. "Water's gon'na have to do for now…"

Sharing a brief glance, Face and B.A. silently prayed Murdock would run faster than he ever had. Water was a better cleaner than nothing, but it certainly wasn't peroxide either. The minute cleaning would stave off infection, not prevent it. If they couldn't get Hannibal to a hospital soon…Face cringed as his mind clawed away at the fear rapidly sinking into his heart.

**TBC**

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><p><strong>AN:** Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! I'll try to have the next posted soon...you know how it is...exam week ;P


	5. Hannibal pt 2

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone for all the wonderful reviews!

**Disclaimer:** Let me check...nope, still not mine.

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><p><strong>Hannibal: Pt 2<br>Anxiety  
>StriderX<strong>

The Lieutenant worked as quickly as he could; they didn't have much for supplies, but the drops of water and almost clean cloth torn from his shirt-sleeve were doing their job well.

Throughout the process, Hannibal grasped onto B.A.'s waiting hand, gritting his teeth against the pain every time the cloth burrowed into his shoulder. He couldn't help the sharp hisses that escaped his lips nor the sweat pouring off his brow.

B.A. squeezed the Colonel's hand with worry gnawing away at his insides. Even in Nam, Hannibal never got hurt…well, _almost_ never. There was this unspoken law between the boys of the team: Hannibal gave up everything making sure they always came out whole. In return, they would _never_ let him be hurt. The Colonel protected them from life, they protected him from death. That's just the way it worked. But now…kneeling there with Hannibal bleeding out in his arms, seeing Face's hands covered in the Colonel's blood…B.A. felt an indescribable blackness in his stomach where the _jazz_ should have been.

It was a simple mission; grab and destroy.

It wasn't supposed to end this way.

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><p>By the time the wound was cleaned and shoddily bandaged, Face thought he might pass out. No matter how he focused, he couldn't stop the trembling in his hands or the <em>thump <em>of his heart. Hannibal was still conscious even after the Lieutenant's prodding; Face internally cursed the older man's steady stare, watching his every move. Under such scrutiny, Face wasn't sure he could maintain a strong veil for long. Hannibal knew him—better then B.A., even Murdock—the man knew his every glance and laugh, every subtle shift and well-played con. Partly, it infuriated Face. Hannibal may know him, but Face knew the old man too.

It hurt him more than anything to see the pride and concern deeply embedded in Hannibal's military eyes. The man was shot…_dying_…and there, his expression wasn't one engulfed by pain or self-pity, but of concern for _his boys_. With a frustrated sigh, Face gave up to meet Hannibal's weakening glare head-on.

The moment between them was long and silent, but B.A. saw it for what it was. Hannibal may be down, but he was still their commander, still their _father_.

"Ya' did good kid…" Hannibal's rasping voice finally gasped out. "Sho—shouldn't even le-eave a scar."

Inwardly, Face was beside himself with worry, but he couldn't help but smirk at Hannibal's joke. Neither could B.A. The man had perfect timing.

"You're gon'na be alright, Hannibal," Face forced out; he closed his eyes for a moment when his voice cracked. Shaking his head, he knew he was losing control—the hitch in his breath, the rock forming just behind his throat; the blurred lake that was becoming his vision. It was all too much, too much to con. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Face's voice was tight and just above a whisper, but Hannibal heard it. He could've cursed. No more jokes today.

"…had to…get you boys…out first."

The reply was simple and proud; B.A. saw the determination set in stone on his face. Even if Hannibal had died on the spot, the Colonel wouldn't have changed a thing. As much as that bothered B.A., he knew he'd have done the same.

Face couldn't see the logic that B.A. knew instinctively. B.A. knew why and so did Hannibal. It was the unspoken reality; Face's heart _felt_ more than any of them could imagine. "You should've at least gone back to town in the jeep…we could've gotten you help faster…" even Face knew he was rambling, but he couldn't help it. It was like B.A.'s battle: Hannibal didn't get hurt, that was the law. They all knew it. Only, for the Lieutenant, the war went deeper. If anyone got hurt on missions, it was Face, and Face was okay with that; _proud_ of that. It wasn't planned that way, of course, but if someone had to step into the punching-bag shoes, Face found it was much better if he took the wallops; he couldn't bear seeing Murdock hit, B.A. was too tough to get caught, and Hannibal…Hannibal was untouchable. That was the way it should be.

How'd it turn out so wrong?

Just as the thought crossed the Lieutenant's mind, the comforting tune of chopper blades erupted in the silent desert air. _Murdock!_

All three men grinned despite themselves; the Captain might be crazy, but he was also the fastest (and most reliable, though they'd never admit it) thing on two legs. In seconds counted with the _thump thump_ of chopper blades, they watched Murdock guide the machine to a flat clearing just a few feet away. Despite its power and weight, under Murdock's fluid fingers the helicopter landed on the dirt like a feather on water.

B.A. sighed. Everything would be alright now.

In no time, Murdock was out of the chopper and barreling toward them, misery plastered on his face. Absently, B.A. realized the poor fool must've been praying he wasn't too late the entire run to town and flight back. When Murdock spotted Hannibal not only alive, but still conscious, he sighed long and deep; it was all he could do to keep his legs from going to jello beneath him. "How is he?" he sputtered loudly over the drone of the bird.

Face hadn't composed himself enough to look Murdock in the eye, but he did manage to get his voice working. "Not great; we need to get him to Maggie."

Murdock nodded curtly. It was clear something major had happened while he was gone, but now wasn't the time to fish for details. "Got it…I called her from the chopper. She knows we're comin'."

Even from his pain-induced stupor, Hannibal was impressed. For so long, _he'd_ always been the one to call the shots, the one to make the decisions…he may have forgotten (a little) just how capable his boys really were.

"Good," was Face's curt nod. One last time, the Lieutenant locked eyes with Hannibal. "We're gon'na have to move you know, Hannibal. I'm sorry…it's not going to feel good."

Hannibal nodded, grinding his teeth even as B.A. began to shift under him. Though he fought his best to keep up appearances (as small and little as may be left), Hannibal felt the cold rush of pailing skin the moment his body moved. He could nearly imagine the open wound grinding apart; bubbling blood oozing through shattered muscle and exposed bone.

Vaguely, he heard Face's voice. The kid was saying something, calling something…suddenly, the Earth surged under Hannibal's spine; the last bit of awareness telling him he was being carried.

An unbearable dizziness poured through his eyes as the sky above began to spin and fade. His stomach ground into mush; the pain was too much, each step of his carriers sent a jolt like a blunt knife through his body. He couldn't take it…couldn't hold on…

"Here, set him down, _gently_, _gently_…" Murdock's urgent guidings were largely unnecessary as Face and B.A. reached the chopper with Hannibal in tow, but it made the pilot feel better. As the two stronger men were gingerly carrying their Colonel between them, Murdock had rushed backed to the chopper to throw a found blanket over the empty floor space of the passenger compartment. When they'd arrived by the open side door, Murdock eagerly took Hannibal's arms from B.A. and aided in lifting the older man into the bird.

It wasn't until they were all inside that they realized Hannibal was no longer conscious.

"Hannibal?" Face called gently, a clammy hand on the Colonel's shoulder. Face could feel his heart skip a beat when he didn't reply. "Hannibal!" another small shake to his uninjured shoulder, another skip of the heartbeat: no reply.

"Murdock, get this bird in the air, _now_!" Face suddenly barked at the Captain, who'd been as lost in his thoughts as the rest of them.

"Y-y-yeah. On it," Murdock slowly faltered as he jerked toward the pilot's chair. All but falling into it, he flung the headphones over his ears, flicked the switches and set the chopper to fly. "ETA 1700hours…an hour an' forty-five if the wind cooperates."

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><p>It was the longest hour and forty-five minutes the Team had endured since Nam. B.A. could feel the nagging pulse of aviophobia eating away at his gut, but he ignored it completely; even forgot about it each time his eyes locked with the crimson stain weaving over the pseudo bandage snuggly wrapped about Hannibal's chest. He sighed deep and long like a man in a mortuary.<p>

Face was a mess—jittery and two steps from panic—not that he let B.A. or Murdock notice, of course. He grasped Hannibal's limp hand as he checked the Colonel's pulse for the tenth time that minute. So far he was stable, but ever-so-slightly, Face could feel his commander fading with each minute. Internally, the kid drove himself mad with guilt. He hadn't meant to…it's just…he couldn't stop the memories of every solitary time Hannibal single-handedly dragged him back from death's door. Every gunshot, every fever and broken bone; every breakdown that left Face a sniffling heap while this man—this…_father_—picked up the pieces. Face shook his head violently as stinging moisture filled his eyes. _Not now_, he berated himself. They had a job to do: get the wounded soldier to Dr. Sullivan. Right then, Face couldn't address the blood spilled as _Hannibal's_…couldn't think of the code never used…_Mother Goose leaking_.

Behind the chopper controls, Murdock couldn't stem the tears that fell. Hannibal was his mentor, his idol; his grounding block to the world. Aside from Face (and occasionally B.A.), Hannibal was the only one who treated him like a human being, not just some has-been whack job. If he didn't make it through this…Murdock couldn't think it…it would be all his fault…he would have been too late.

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><p>Landing a helicopter in the one-horse dirt town of Bad Rock was easy. The Sherriff was a friend and the only doctor was smitten with the very man needing repair.<p>

Murdock spotted Maggie's little house easily from the sky and opted to place the chopper right in the middle of the street in front. A few neighbors peeked through windows and doors as the bird kicked up a funnel of dust in its decent, but they'd leave the Team alone, of course. They all knew how these men saved their town a few months back. And any friend of Maggie's (not to mention the local law enforcement) was a friend of theirs.

Maggie watched them land anxiously; she'd been pacing ever since Murdock's call. He was brief and winded, but she'd instantly picked up on the tone.

"_Doc Sullivan?" he'd asked. "S-sorry to bug ya'…it's HM Murdock of the A-Team, remember me? I uh…listen, we need your help real bad. It's…it's Hannibal. He um…he's been shot…yes mam', last I saw he was still conscious, but um…he's bleedin' bad…right. Thanks…thanks so much. Be there in a couple hours."_

She hadn't talked to Hannibal since the Team invaded her home, but that did nothing to lessen her feelings. She'd connected with the commander instantly; maybe it was his clear, crystal eyes, or confident, playful smile…or his lips, experienced and passionate against hers…

Her heart skipped a beat when the thud of rotor blades finally pulsed in her ears. It was a wait two hours too agonizing; now that they were here maybe she could swallow the wallowing helplessness that burned holes in her nerves.

The chopper's massive blades hadn't even stopped spinning when she saw B.A. whip open the side door and hop out—the wound she'd patched in his leg clearly fully healed. She ran to meet them, the deafening pulse of the mighty machine slowly dissipating in the breeze. It was all she could do to force her military training to take control when she caught sight of Hannibal—deathly pale, breathing ragged, unconscious—bleeding out on the floor.

She hopped around B.A. into the chopper and immediately began her work checking vitals; pleasantries would have to be saved for later. Mumbling the poor statistics of Hannibal's heart rate and blood pressure, she looked to Face, who'd never moved from his place beside the Colonel. "How long ago was he shot?" she asked; her training grinding it out as more of an order.

Face didn't hesitate. Maggie immediately recognized the drive compelling the kid forward. "About three and a half hours," his voice was strong, military, but she could see his anguish clear as a sob. She'd seen it last time: they were a strange sort of family, but for every oddity they were that much closer. When one of them was hurt, they all felt it. "The bleeding's slowed; I only had water and cloth to clean it. He's developed a fever; been unconscious for two hours."

Maggie nodded as Face automatically provided all the information she needed. "Good. Let's get him inside."

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><p>If the boys thought waiting in the chopper was bad, then waiting in Maggie's living room as she struggled to keep Hannibal alive was slow and agonizing murder. Face had long-since paced a trench in the floor, Murdock had made more origami animals then there was newspaper to fold, and B.A. stared endlessly, glaring at the White Door through which Hannibal's life hung by a thread. An hour into it, Face couldn't take the tense silence any more.<p>

"I just don't understand…why didn't he say anything sooner?" Face paused in mid-step, ran a trembling hand through his hair, turned, and kept going.

"Stupid fool," B.A. shrugged; worry etching his tone.

Murdock put the finishing touches on a monkey riding horseback. Looking up at Face, he exhaled. "He did the same thing we all would've done, Faceman…this family's always had a communication problem."

"He was _shot_ Murdock! He should've said _something!_"

Murdock didn't take offense to the harsh bite in Face's tone—it was just the worry talking.

B.A. shook his head and snorted. "Yeah, just like _you_ should'a said somethin' that time ya' went a week wit' a busted arm before we found out."

Face's eyes locked with B.A.'s. He looked shell-shocked, but slowly nodded. His answering sigh was shaky and breathless. "I just can't believe it…this is _Hannibal_ here…" Face couldn't finish the thought, he voice betraying him.

Murdock recognized the thought instantly and shook his head. "Hannibal's gon'na be fine…he has to be. Right B.A.?"

When B.A. turned to Murdock, he saw his older-baby brother surrounded with paper animals paired into four's, the best of each group facing the other three. The pilot's eyes were shimmering as he anxiously chewed his bottom lip. The instinctive insult on B.A.'s lips melted away at the sight. "Yeah, Murdock…he'll be just fine."

Face watched the rare moment before turning on heel with eyes locked on that cursed White Door. He prayed B.A. was right, but internally…he just couldn't shake the greatest fear going like a pickax over his heart.

It was at this moment, when all resolve was steadily breaking down, that the White Door swung open and three pairs of anxious eyes caught Maggie looking very old with a blood-stained apron over her pretty brown skirt. Face struggled not to be sick…_Hannibal's blood_.

"H-how is he?" The words flew out of Murdock's mouth before B.A. or Face got up the nerve.

The second she took in their honest, petrifies faces seemed to last a lifetime before she inhaled seriously and began to speak.

**TBC**

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><p><strong>AN:** As always, thanks for reading! Till next time!


	6. Hannibal pt 3

**A****/N**: Okay, so...I lied a little. This isn't the last chapter...there's gon'na be one more. These men, they're just too complex! ;) Hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer**: not mine.

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><p><strong>Hannibal pt 3<br>Tedious  
>StriderX<strong>

Maggie's words were the closest things to an angel's voice the boys thought they'd ever hear. Just five tiny little words were all it took to reduce Murdock to a sniffling grin, B.A. to a trembling sigh, and Face to a puddle of weak knees and ruffled hair on the closest chair he could find.

"He's going to be fine."

"Oh thank God," was all Face could breathe; his response the perfect translation of all their feelings.

Maggie let the good news sink in for a minute or two, taking the moment to recharge her own batteries on their relief. When she continued, a small smile brought her youth back from the depths. "The bullet came out clean and thanks to your efforts," her glance rested a moment on Face. "The infection was minimal. He'll need a lot of rest the next few days, but he'll be up and scheming again before you know it."

Murdock grinned. "That's great news Doc, thanks…for everything."

Maggie waved him off kindly. "I'm just glad you made it in time."

The intensity of their own imaginations had brought the reality of how near they'd come to losing their _father_ close to home but hearing Maggie—a veteran doctor—acknowledge it…the 'what if's' were simply too much to bear.

Staring at the newsprint lion leading a pack of three lemurs (each with their own feature: a Mohawk, a tie, a baseball cap), Murdock decided he needed fresh air…_now_. Jumping up, he shuffled to the front door almost nervously. "I'm a…gon'na go hide the ch-chopper up in the woods."

Eager to help, knowing they'd all want to see Hannibal as soon as possible, Maggie reached into her skirt's pocket and pulled out her car keys. Tossing them to B.A. she instructed: "There's a small road that leads to an old hunting trail about a mile behind here…there's a clearing just off the road. You can hide the chopper there then drive back.

B.A. stood with a nod, keys in hand. "Thanks Doc," then, turning to Murdock, "C'mon fool, quicker we get back, quicker we can see Hannibal."

With a salute, Murdock bounded out the door and to the borrowed bird; B.A. was close behind to a muddy Jeep in the drive beside the house.

As they left, Maggie turned to Face and noted the uncertainty playing in his tired eyes as he stared through the open White Door. Years of hard doctoring or not, Maggie's heart still melted. It was times like these when she saw people for who they really were—all three of these boys were loyal and true, but right then, catching the dull shimmer in the Lieutenant's eyes, she saw beneath his mask. Deep down (probably farther deep then even _he_ could access) was an innocent young boy, petrified of losing the only family he'd ever had. Quietly, so as not to startle him, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Reluctantly, his eyes drifted to hers.

She smiled. "Why don't you go in and talk to him? He may not wake up, but I'm sure your being there will help."

Maggie couldn't tell if his expression was timid or anxious, but he nodded all the same. "Thanks," he offered before pulling himself up and hesitantly crossing the threshold of that infamous door.

Maggie collapsed into Face's chair when he'd gone out of sight. '_And I thought today would be slow_,' she shook her head with a tired snort.

* * *

><p>Face's heart was pounding so fast as he weaved through the hall he wondered if Murdock's '<em>Sounds of Helicopters'<em> record was broken inside his head. _Thump, thump, thump…_ he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't—

He froze…everything froze.

B.A. must've snapped Murdock's record in two.

Suddenly, Hannibal was right in front of him. His face was pale and drawn; a thick white blanket hid his abused body as he lay on the operating table.

Face moved without thinking; he pulled a chair close by the 'bedside' and took Hannibal's limp hand as he sat. He didn't look up at Hannibal's face…his eyes were glued to the older man's chest like a spell. _Up, down, up, down._ As long as his chest moved, Face chanted to himself, Hannibal would be okay—he was still alive.

The air was quiet for a long time as Face took in the near silent sound of Hannibal's breath, soft and slightly shallow as it was.

When he'd finally worked up the nerve to say something, he nearly jumped at the harsh, broken sound of his own voice. "Ha-hannibal?" he paused, tearing his gaze from the steady rise-and-fall to Hannibal's resting eyes. Face wasn't sure what to say, really…this was usually Hannibal's job or Murdock's…Face and B.A. were never very good at these kinds of words. (B.A. for the open emotion, Face for the wrenching honesty.)

Still, Face knew he had to try. "M-Maggie says you're gon'na heal up just fine," he smiled small and sad. Delaying the inevitable was not making it any easier. He sighed, placing a nervous hand atop the limp one he already held. "Why…didn't you say anything?" his voice broke. There was feeling there so deep Face couldn't comprehend it. He didn't know what he was feeling…or how to express it.

Absently rubbing Hannibal's hand, he was losing control; he didn't want command anymore. He wanted Hannibal to wake up and take it back.

"Murdock says we all would'a done the same thing, and he's right…but…Hannibal?" his heart begged the older man to wake but his mind prayed he wouldn't. Face knew he could never say this to the Colonel's face when the man was looking right back. "I…we…I can't lose you, Hannibal…w-without you…" he faltered. "You're the only father I've ever had."

The open confession left Face feeling cold and empty. Hannibal was still unconscious, far from hearing. He'd never know…

* * *

><p>When B.A. and Murdock returned, they squeezed through the operating room door and found Face still and numb, lost in the rise-and-fall of Hannibal's chest with clear, dry eyes. He'd heard them come in, of course, but couldn't find the energy to react. It wasn't until Murdock placed a brotherly hand on his shoulder that he crawled out of his reverie.<p>

"How's he doin'?" came Murdock's voice, quiet as if trying to keep Hannibal from overhearing.

Face shrugged, alarmingly devoid of emotion. Murdock recognized it instantly as the last defense of a conman against sheer breakdown. "Doc says he'll be okay."

B.A.'s gaze shot to Face the moment he spoke. The big guy may not be the best at expressing himself either, but he knew that dark, void tone just as well as Murdock. His glance shifted back to the Captain; the man was a crazy fool, but by far the best psychiatrist of them all.

Calmly, like a pillar of stability, Murdock sent Face waves of strength through the strong grasp to the kid's shoulder. "Why don't you go catch some breeze, Muchacho. We'll watch 'im for a bit."

Slowly, like a man concussed, Face nodded and ran a hand over his eyes and through his hair. "Yeah," he exhaled. Reluctantly, the Lieutenant pulled his hand from Hannibal's and stood with one last, longing look. When he left the room, he did so quickly, barely meeting Murdock's eyes for a weak, lying smile.

After watching him go, Murdock lowered himself into the empty chair and took Face's place in grasping Hannibal's hand. B.A. was close behind him, a silent statue of support and unease.

"Hey'a Colonel," Murdock tried for cheerfulness. "Boy, you sure had us worried," his façade crashed and burned in a chuckle three octaves too sad.

The silence that responded was too much too bear. Even B.A. shuffled uncomfortably.

Murdock, for his part, did his best to keep his voice steady. "Anytime you uh, feel like wakin' up would be great, though…we're um…" faking finally failed him when the dark thoughts he'd been desperately trying to suppress ravaged his mind like a jack-in-the-box. "We can't do this wi-without you…"

Feeling the need to give Murdock a moment, B.A. found his courage. "Yeah man…you our Colonel. We ain't a team wit'out you."

"Yeah," chimed in Murdock, B.A.'s strength replenishing his own. "And if we find out you're just prentendin' to be unconscious for a dramatic entrance, B.A. here's gon'na weld you into that Aquamaniac costume for good!"

The hope in Murdock's eyes was bright and short-lived. No response. No grin. Not even a subtle change in expression.

"Point is," continued B.A. "Our family ain't right wit' you hurt…you got'ta wake up soon, man. We all worried an' I think Faceman 'bout to pass out."

* * *

><p>It was a dream come true when Hannibal squeezed Murdock's hand. The pilot hardly registered it at first, thinking his own fingers were just twitching again. It wasn't until two tries later, each progressively stronger then the last, that he picked up on it. Instantly shooting to attention, Murdock jumped forward. "Colonel?" he asked, hope emanating through every pore.<p>

B.A. was leaning in close behind, eagerly encouraging Hannibal awake; the Colonel's eyelids fluttered and low groan seeped out with the effort. "That's it, Hannibal."

Hannibal's first waking thought was addressing the conundrums of 1. Why he was cold, 2. Why he was sleeping and 3. Was that Murdock _holding_ his hand? In his mind's eye, he pictured his eyes popping open and lunging to a sit on…whatever he was laying on. What actually occurred couldn't have been any more disappointing to the _invincible_ Colonel. His eyelids felt like a thousand pounds as he willed them open; just the thought of getting up sent a wave of agony over his chest not unlike a runaway train. The involuntary groan that began in pain ended in self-berating frustration. Even before the haze about his vision cleared, he remembered just what it was that put him in this pathetic position.

The gunshot in Utah…he hadn't even been able to make it back to town.

"Colonel!" Murdock's childish leap of excitement nearly gave Hannibal a heart attack.

"Boy, oh boy! I've never been so happy to see those baby blues!"

Wearily, Hannibal forced on his biggest grin…which really came out a small, crooked smirk. "Nice to see you too, Captain," Hannibal winced. His voice was about as far from _strong_ as the will of a mouse resisting cheese.

"Ya' had us worried, man," B.A. stepped forward into Hannibal's line of sight. Now that the Colonel was awake, he didn't feel so uneasy. "How ya' feel?"

Hannibal snorted a laugh and grimaced at the tightness it caused. "Like that time I took Face's dare and went out with twins."

Murdock's grin couldn't get any bigger; B.A. shook his head, not able to help his rolling eyes. Yeah, the old man was a'right.

"You guys alright?" Hannibal asked, suddenly quite serious.

Murdock nodded. "We're fine! It's _you_ who jumped into the fire this time, Colonel."

Hannibal's expression went solemn as he took in his surroundings. He recognized Maggie's place immediately…but something was missing, _someone_. "Where's Face?"

Briefly Hannibal wondered if his heart was hit too…when Murdock's grin fell he suddenly found it difficult to breathe. The kid hadn't been hit too, had he?

Murdock must've read his worries like a book. "He's okay…We just sent him outside for some air. He's been sittin' with you since the Doc finished patchin' you up."

If what the Captain said was supposed to comfort Hannibal, what he _didn't _say increased his worry ten-fold. With reconstructing consciousness was coming memories of things he wasn't meant to have heard…

He shook his head. Thoughts for later. "How long have I been out?"

Murdock looked at the clock on the wall, grateful for the change of topic. "About five hours or so."

Hannibal nodded. "Any signs of Decker?"

Both boys rolled their eyes. "Don't worry, Colonel, we're safe here for a while," Murdock new Hannibal hated not being in charge…the warning glare he received when he pushed Hannibal back down from attempting to sit proved that. "You should get some more rest…"

"Yeah man…we ain't goin' anywhere," B.A. chimed in, a silent threat of muscle backing up Murdock's gentle reproof.

"Besides," Murdock grinned. "I don't think Ms. Maggie's gon'na be lettin' _you_ out'ta her sight anytime soon anyway."

Hannibal chuckled despite himself as he settled back, remembering the soft taste of the lady doctor's lips on his…maybe staying here for a bit wouldn't be _so_ bad…

* * *

><p>The next time Hannibal woke, he found himself comfortable. It was a strange sensation for a <em>hardened<em> military man like himself…vaguely, he remembered being shot, trudging through the desert; collapsing in B.A.'s arms. He remembered waking up on an operating table with Murdock and B.A. anxiously fussing over him.

None of those things did anything to explain the soft, painless comfort that then enveloped him. Tentatively, he moved his left hand about, searching for some kind of answer without the trouble of opening his eyes. The fabric under his fingertips was softly woven and plush like a child's favorite blanket. Wiggling his toes—mysteriously naked without socks or boots—the same gentle cotton touch caressed him. _A bed_.

Slowly, realizing there was no harm there, Hannibal's eyes parted. The ceiling above was white, like many household ceilings.

He could practically _hear_ the relief radiating next to him. Turning his head, he found a small vase of wildflowers watching over him. Hannibal smiled as their soft scent drifted through his nose. _Only Maggie_.

"Welcome back, John," speak of the angel, Hannibal couldn't suppress the grin when he turned the other way to find the Doctor's gentle, knowing smile lighting up the air.

"Maggie," he breathed, finally allowing himself to believe the whole ordeal was really over. They were alone in the room, but that didn't surprise him. Through the window he could see the first rays of sun just glittering across the yard.

She must've been reading his mind. "I almost had to sedate the boys to get them to get some rest…they've been watching over you all night."

Hannibal snorted a weak laugh. "I'm surprised a threat was all it took," he wasn't, of course. Maggie may be beautiful and charming, but he knew she could be downright scary when need be. "How long've I been out?" the classic question rolled off his tongue as he tested just how much discomfort stretching would cause…_too_ much.

"Almost twelve hours. You had me worried, John…" her voice drifted off with a sadness he kicked himself for causing.

"Aw, I'm sorry, Maggie," he tried for his most convincing grin. "I'm okay…thanks to you."

Maggie returned the smile, but the grief was still there, shimmering behind her eyes, even as she held his hand. "I only did the patch job…those boys of yours; _they're_ the ones who saved your life."

Hannibal watched her deeply, taking in every word as a thousand-pound-note. _Those boys of mine…_the pride swelling in his heart could only be dampened by his tense disappointment in himself. _I should be protecting them…not the other way around._

Maggie seemed to notice the sudden shift in mood about Hannibal's heart. She noticed, but wasn't sure how best to handle it. She'd seen it before a thousand times—a father getting older, coming to the bitter realization that a time would come when he could no longer protect his sons from harm; a father broken by the shattered pride of needing his sons to protect _him_—each time was harder to witness then the last. "You're gon'na be all healed up in no time, John."

He looked at her and saw the understanding there. He couldn't voice it…couldn't admit his greatest fear; with her at least, he knew he didn't have to. Desperate to change positions, Hannibal slid his left arm under him and began to pull himself up.

He didn't get far. Barely was his elbow in a lifting position, when Maggie's strong hands settled on his uninjured shoulder, pushing him down. "Oh no you don't, Colonel."

He tried his best Murdock-impression at puppy-dog-eyes, but she clearly wasn't buying it. Her gaze was steely and bordering frightening. "As commanding medical officer, I'm ordering you to stay put, _is that clear?_"

"Yes mam'," he grunted out. He wanted so badly to defy her, to get up _right now_ and take charge—to grab his boys, steal a kiss from the Doc, and ride off into the sunrise…

All of this played out like a piece of cake in his mind. The reality found him sinking back to the bed while she smirked in victory.

Squeezing his hand with love, she smiled small. "I'm gon'na get you some water, okay? I'll be right back."

He watched her go, her soft skirt circling about her legs as she walked, and turned back out to the window. He could see the glisten of morning dew slowly fading into the dusty green of day. Whatever happened to bouncing back without a scratch?

* * *

><p>The next two days were a pair of the longest, most tedious moments the Team had faced in years. Maggie thought it would've been almost funny if not for the circumstances; with Hannibal laid up, the boys were besides themselves with what to do. Often, she found the Captain, Murdock flailed out on her couch tossing a stress-ball with one leg thrown over the back and head hanging off the side. B.A. growled often, but seemed to be the most adjustable of them all; he was eager to help her around the house with repairs and made a rather decent cook. She figured his keeping busy kept the worry at bay.<p>

The other young man, Lieutenant Peck…_Face_: he worried her now and then. He paced a lot; she recognized the faraway look in his eyes as that of a man struggling to hide worry under nonchalance. He didn't spend much time with Hannibal over those two days, either; he silently snuck in once in a while, only to dart right back out again. For the last hour or so, she noticed he'd finally settled in a chair on her back patio, facing the woods, deep in thought.

She wondered if she should talk to him, but the moment her hand went for the sliding door, Murdock stopped her. "Don't worry 'bout him, Doc," he'd said with a sad little smile. He didn't look at her, but past her, through the glass to the young blonde in question. "He just needs some air. He'll be alright," then, like a switch flipped, his eyes locked with hers and a huge childish grin lit up his face. "Hey! Do you have any chocolate chips?"

"Um…" Maggie had to admit, she was caught by surprise. "I think there's some in the pantry…"

"Oh good! Chocolate chip cookies are the Colonel's favorite!"

And just like that, the Captain was gone, off into the kitchen with all his crazy glory. Maggie shook her head. Did they _really_ let this man fly them?

With the remnants of a giggle, Maggie went to check on her patient.

"What's so funny?" Hannibal asked, looking up from the book he'd been reading. His right arm was in a sling, keeping his shirt from fitting quite right, but he was thrilled to be sitting up straight. He'd graduated to the semi-vertical position just that morning…he was hoping if he behaved, Maggie would let him leave the bedroom for longer than just a trip to the bathroom.

The Doctor shook her head with a grin and sat on the edge of the bed by Hannibal's side. "Murdock,"

"Ah," he mouthed with a nod. The Captain was always good for a laugh…Hannibal still firmly believed that was exactly _why_ the boy'd chosen to be the way he is.

"How are you feeling?"

It was the tenth time Maggie had asked him that today, but he didn't mind. Even if humiliating…there was something nice about being cared for. "Better," he smiled genuinely. Yeah, it still hurt to breathe and moving felt like hell, but _feeling_ (good or bad) reminded him he was still alive.

Maggie didn't look convinced and pulled away Hannibal's shirt to inspect the bandage hidden beneath. "Looks like the stitches are holding well. And no fever," she added, placing a cool hand to his forehead. "John, you heal with as much charm as you speak."

He grinned devilishly.

For a long moment, she stared at him; she examined his clear, crystal eyes…his soft, prematurely white hair…his lips…

The kiss came so quick she didn't even have time to register it. One moment, she's locked in a passionate daydream of the man who can never stay; the next, his lips are flush with hers, moving like a dance over her skin.

She was in a perfect breathless agony when they finally parted for air. She was blushing; she could feel the heat rising through her cheeks. He was grinning at her happily. She wished she could immortalize the look on his face just then. It wasn't ravaging and hungry like that of a man in the bloom of youth, but sincere and loving; the look of a man who'd seen everything, _felt_ everything, yet still chose to spend an extra moment staring at _her_.

Inwardly berating herself for losing control with a _patient_, Maggie cleared her throat and patted his hand; they both knew this signaled the end of the moment.

"Well," she tried, desperately attempting to straighten herself. "So long as you don't pick up a hammer and start helping B.A. with the gutters, I think you can move about now, if you want…"

There was an ecstatic burst of excitement erupting in Hannibal then. _Finally!_ If he tried to hide it from her, he failed miserably.

"Just take it _slow_…I wouldn't want to have to put an order on you again," she chuckled slightly, moving to help him stand.

Even through the numbing stiffness as he moved his legs off the bed, he couldn't help the mischievous glint in his eyes.

She didn't miss that, either, matching his passion with a silent promise of better times to come.

The seconds dripped by at a gravelling snails' pace as he leaned and bent his way out of bed. Each movement sent spikes of numbing throbs through his chest, but he ignored it. There'd been worse pain in 'Nam and Korea before that…of course, he'd been decades younger…and not nearly as soft.

By the time he was standing on his own, he was slightly trembling and dizzy with effort. He was aware of Maggie eyeing him closely, wondering if she'd made the right decision to let him stand. He was thankful for the pajama pants hiding his wobbly knees.

Taking a moment to gather himself, Hannibal straightened his back; finding his balance with his right arm pressed against him was a little more awkward then he'd anticipated. When the spots finally cleared, Hannibal forced a grin and nodded. "You see? _That's_ why you don't lay down for so long…you lose your legs."

Maggie knew he was joking to cover the pain. She let him. "Just don't try running any marathons for a while, alright?"

He chuckled lightly. Before she knew it, he was already walking steady and out the door; out to find his boys.

**TBC**

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Okay...the _next_ chapter will be the last...I think lol.


	7. Hannibal pt 4

**A/N:**Hello all my friends! After a tediously long wait, I finally present to you the final chapter. Thank you all for your support and reviews! I know I'm not the best at replying, but please know that each and every review brings a spark of happiness to my day. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Alas. Do not own.

* * *

><p><strong>Hannibal pt 4<br>Family  
>StriderX<strong>

The little white house, Hannibal found, was exactly what he'd expect Maggie's home to be. He'd been in it before when B.A. had been shot, but he'd never really taken the time to look around. Now, at that crystal moment after a close bout with death, he couldn't get enough of every detail in sight.

She was meticulously clean and organized; the shelves were uncluttered and shining with polish. From what he could tell while standing in the hallway opening to a quant living room, she didn't keep many personal things; a photograph here, a figurine there. He imagined the combination of Doctor and military Captain had had a hand in influencing that.

Most all of the magazines and books lying on tables and shelves were identical to those in any doctor's office. Briefly, he wondered what it would be like to have your home double as a hospital…when he remembered the sincerity on her face the moment he woke, he realized she wouldn't have it any other way.

From the immediate view, the boys were nowhere in sight; he could _hear_ them though—B.A. must've been causing the incessant banging from out front and Murdock could be the only culprit behind the clanging pans and operatic singing from the kitchen.

Shaking his head, Hannibal decided he needed a laugh. Following the surprisingly well-tuned voice, he made his way through the living room, dining room, and stopped, hovering at the threshold of the small country kitchen.

To his pain-weary heart's content, the sight that met him brought a grin so big he couldn't help laughing.

There, in the tiny kitchen, was Murdock, covered in flour with a colander on his head and a wooden spoon in his hand, singing and dancing like a man reliving his childhood. Everything was coated with the fine white power; the counters and floor near the oven seemed to have suffered the worst.

When the Captain caught sight of his Colonel watching his performance, the note on his lips flew up to a loud and giggling greeting. "Colonel!" still with his metal-hat and wooden sword, Murdock stood guarding view to the oven with the biggest of grins. "How you feelin'?"

Hannibal had to admit, Murdock's good mood was contagious. "Much better…what _are_ you doing?" he was leaning on the doorframe with his good shoulder taking the weight; a posture Murdock knew meant the Colonel was amused.

Practically exploding with excitement, Murdock jumped aside and threw up his spoon in a wild introduction. "Tada!"

And there, amidst the carnage of flour and egg shells, was a spotless cookie sheet slowly cooling on the stove. Hannibal's grin fell just a little, but not in hurt or disappointment.

In the center of that beat-up old pan was a giant, perfect-circle cookie with 'Get well soon Hannibal!' spelled out in chocolate chips.

It was a little known secret between the Team that Hannibal couldn't resist a good chocolate chip cookie.

And right then, that singular cookie threatened to get him teary.

Easily noticing, Murdock deterred. "I figured you'd be needin' ta' build your strength back up, y-you know…after everything."

When Hannibal's eyes drifted upward, something clicked like an epiphany at 3am: a sudden memory of a dream not really a dream.

"_Anytime you uh, feel like wakin' up would be great, though…we're um…"the voice drawled in a sadness that broke his heart. "We can't do this wi-without you…"_

Hannibal stared at Murdock like the boy'd just saved the entire army. That cookie…it was more than just a well-wish or a sweet treat; that cookie was Murdock's heart and soul, filled with all the words he just couldn't say.

Slowly moving forward, mildly aware of the oddity of what he was about do to, Hannibal opened his uninjured arm and took the Captain in a warm hug hardly cautious of his wound.

Soon as the shock wore off, Murdock enveloped Hannibal in his lanky arms like a promise.

"Don't worry, Murdock," Hannibal finally ventured through the embrace. "There's a lot more life in me yet. I'd never leave you boys."

Murdock pulled away, suddenly rather serious. The colander shifted crookedly atop his hair and flour snowed like rain as he shook his head. "Promise you'll never get hurt again," Murdock knew such a thing was impossible even as he said it.

So did Hannibal. "I promise."

With a smirk, Murdock straightened his helmet and chuckled lightly at the mumbled curse wafting through the house from the open living room windows. "The big guy's been fixin' anything he can find…wan'na piece of cookie for the road?"

Wordlessly, Hannibal nodded and watched the crazy man gingerly cut the giant cookie into six perfect pieces. Carefully, he placed the piece with the most chocolate (part of the 'Hannibal' word) on a napkin and handed it to the man-in-honor.

Hannibal took it happily and smirked. "Thanks Murdock,"

"Anytime, Colonel."

There was so much more in that short reply then either of them could ever express.

* * *

><p>Savoring the decadent cookie-slice, Hannibal drifted back through the dining room and out the front screen door. The racket outside was deafening compared to the (relative) quiet inside. Just to his left, he saw B.A. leaning awkwardly on a step-ladder while balancing a piece of gutter in one hand and hammer in the other.<p>

Suddenly Hannibal wondered how he could approach the big man without startling him off the precarious perch. Fortunately he didn't have to worry long before B.A.'s peripheral vision kicked in.

"Hannibal!" he shouted with a rare grin. "You up!"

"And it feels wonderful," Hannibal quipped, matching B.A.'s grin with only slight difficulty. It was true, being up and about really _did_ feel fantastic, but his body was still so weak; he knew he wouldn't last much longer standing. Still, he had a duty to attend to.

B.A. leapt from the ladder and dropped the gutter piece and hammer on the ground. "Man, I knew there was a reason the fool stopped squealin'! How ya' feelin', man?"

Carefully, Hannibal tried for nonchalance as he leaned back on the house. "Better then two days ago, that's for sure."

B.A. frowned.

Hannibal had a feeling it was coming. If Murdock felt it, chances were B.A. did too. He remembered the low, wary voice. _"You our Colonel. We ain't a team wit'out you…Our family ain't right wit' you hurt."_

"That was some scary mess, Hannibal."

The open confession caught Hannibal by surprise. It wasn't as if he'd never been hurt before, after all. There were times he found himself knocking on heaven's door back in 'Nam; they'd watched him battle back to life back then…was now really so different?

But Hannibal knew it was. _Back then_ they'd been a team. _Now_ they were a family. _Big_ difference.

Hannibal struggled with the best way to respond. "B.A., did you _willingly_ get into that chopper for me? With Murdock flying?"

B.A. nodded with a sad chuckle. "'Course, man. Ain't no fear more important than your life, Hannibal."

Feeling that old mist cloud his eyes again, Hannibal set the remainder of his cookie on the porch railing and reached out to grasp B.A.'s arm. "Thank you, Sergeant."

Mimicking Hannibal's action, B.A. grasped Hannibal's good arm, creating a locking bond between them; a promise between two men. "I'm glad you back, man…we all are."

The moment sank between them a long time before Hannibal pulled away and fetched his cookie. B.A. rolled his eyes when he saw it, but didn't say a word. He knew, just as well as Hannibal did.

Deeply, Hannibal sighed; exhaustion was creeping up on him like leech in July. Still, he couldn't fade just yet. There was one more…

"Where's Face?" he'd meant to lighten the question when he thought it, but it came out anxious, almost grave. Hannibal couldn't tell if it was his weakness or deep-set concern that parted his lips in such a way, but B.A. didn't seem surprised.

Shaking his head a little, the big man sighed. "He's been out back a while now. You know how 'e gets when he's worried…real quiet."

Hannibal nodded. So his concern was founded; he might've briefly forgotten Murdock's and B.A.'s pleas, but he was sure Face's would haunt him for the rest of his days.

* * *

><p>"<em>Why…didn't you say anything?"<em>

As Hannibal moved back through the house, Face's broken whisper echoed through his head…the words he wasn't meant to hear; the words he _needed_ to hear.

"_I…we…I can't lose you, Hannibal…w-without you…"_

He'd been trying not to think about it, but now that he was faced with it, Hannibal's heart tore as he remembered the wrenching crack in the boy's tone.

Through the living room, he found the sliding-glass door to the small patio. Almost afraid to peak through, he forced his eyes forward.

What met him was a young man bent over in a chair, staring numbly at the world and all its misfortune. He looked so much older than he was; so much sadder. From behind, Hannibal caught the slow waft of grey twisting in front him.

Face was smoking.

That alone was enough to tell Hannibal something was wrong; Face hated to smoke.

Good arm grasping the door handle, he slid the glass on its tracks and slipped out through the gap. He knew Face heard him when he pulled the door closed behind him; the Lieutenant didn't move, but the break in smoke trail betrayed the hitched breath.

Cautiously, Hannibal inched forward until he was just behind him, a little off to the side. The kid's eyes were dull and glassed; the deep shadows underlining them made Hannibal wonder if Face had slept at all since they got there. He was hunched over in the chair, elbows digging into his knees, as he puffed deeply from a shortening cigar. Hannibal smirked a little. He recognized the scent instantly as one of his own.

Over skin slightly too pale (for a man tanned cinnamon) Hannibal noticed the tailored shirt carelessly left undone around Face's neck; his hair was lacking its usual shine and just barely out of place.

A long minute drifted by until Face moved; he was like a statue lost in time. When he turned to face Hannibal, it was similar to watching a man break out of a deep memory back to reality. Right then, it became surprisingly apparent to Hannibal that Face had had no idea he was standing there.

"Hannibal!" the kid cried, shooting up with his biggest grin. "You-you're up!"

Hannibal chuckled a little at the Lieutenant's enthusiasm. If the cigar hadn't been between Face's fingers when he jumped, Hannibal was sure they'd have a small fire to put out right then.

From the rare, unclouded adoration and relief coating Face's features, Hannibal could see him fighting against the inward urge to lunge into a bear-crushing embrace that would've made Murdock proud. With his shoulder throbbing, Hannibal was thrilled the kid had more self-control then the Captain. Still…he couldn't just deny the moment.

"Good to see you, kid," he smiled warmly and opened his free arm for a welcoming, _gentle_ hug.

It took all Face had to restrain himself to a slight, one-armed embrace. Hannibal was really alright! Standing right there! _Alive!_

Hannibal, of course, saw right through Face's grins and nervous chuckles. There was no doubt that the kid was thrilled to see him up, but the joy in his grin…it was as fake as his liking of cigar smoke in his mouth.

"You're smoking?" Hannibal broke the silence while stiffly lowering himself into the chair just next to that which Face had made home.

Flashing a shy smirk, Face sat next to Hannibal; he'd been rolling the cigar between his fingers. "Yeah…you want one?" without waiting for the obvious reply, Face reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a fresh cigar and matchbox.

Hannibal gladly accepted; the puff of brume that filled his senses as Face's match caught fire brought a surging peace over him. Maybe now he could finally think clearly. Despite the sharp ting in his chest, Hannibal sighed long and deep. "Yeah…that's the stuff."

Face had yet to place his cigar back in his mouth. Now that Hannibal was right there, the soothing smoke puffing through the air in time with his breath…Face didn't need to smoke anymore. The hole that had settled in around him without Hannibal's thick scent was finally filled again.

Discretely, Face smudged out the smoke in the dirt just at the edge of his reach. He figured, maybe if he just let his arm down and didn't move, maybe Hannibal wouldn't notice…

"You never did like the taste, did you?" Hannibal's light chuckle nearly made Face jump. His mind was such a fog. So much had happened…his thoughts had been like a tornado all week. Could he really hide it anymore?

With nothing left in him, Face snorted a laugh. "No."

When Face's eyes peered into Hannibal's, the older man felt a rush of guilt flood his heart. All his boys showed their worry and affections in different ways. Face…he was silent about his heart, but his eyes were hollow and open to Hannibal.

"_You're the only father I've ever had…"_

Hannibal knew there was no way around it. He was going to have to just come out and say it. "Listen, Face…_son_…I'm real proud of how you handled this whole mess. It was an um…good command, Lieutenant," Hannibal cursed himself for his words before they even finished coming out.

Face nodded stiffly; clearly he'd been hoping for more too.

Sighing, Hannibal took the cigar from between his lips. "What I'm trying to say," he started again, eyes never leaving the boy he'd grown so close to. "Thank you, Face," Hannibal noted the confused freeze on Face's features. "You saved my life back there."

Suddenly, Face's gaze shifted down and he shrugged. "It was a group effort. Besides…it never should've happened in the first place," this last part was muttered so quietly Hannibal almost missed it.

Sighing, Hannibal set the cigar in his slung hand and placed his moveable hand on Face's knee. He could feel the kid trembling under his grasp. It was the unavoidable effect of nerves in his youngest. No matter what, good or bad, Face could hide any emotion as long as you didn't _touch_ him.

"Face," when the Lieutenant didn't respond, Hannibal tried again. "Thing's happen…we all know that. It's not your fault, or anybody's. It just happened."

Shaking his head, Face still couldn't meet Hannibal's gaze.

Hannibal could see the boy's walls crumbling down with every second.

"Not to you…" the kid murmured, helplessly.

"Even to me."

This got Face's attention. Pulling his head up, he met Hannibal's eyes with shimmering pools filled with stubborn tears. There was so much he wanted to say; _needed_ to say. But… "Hannibal I…"the words died on his tongue before he could even think them.

Squeezing his knee, Hannibal smiled softly; secretly, he willed his eyes to stay dry and clear as he spoke. "I know kid. Thing you got'ta realize is, I may be the only _father_ you've ever had, but you boys…you're the only _sons_ I will _ever_ have."

Face's jaw hung open like a broken puppet. "You…you heard?"

Hannibal nodded. The hand that had been around Face's knee moved up around the kid's shoulders. There was a little space between their chairs, but not nearly enough to keep Face from inadvertently leaning into Hannibal's grasp. "We're a family, son. A mighty strange one, but the closest any of us will ever get. I'm not about to leave it any time soon."

His lips tilting up with warmth, Face wiped at his eyes with a shaking hand. "That's good," he laughed out in a poorly hidden choke. "'cuz I _really_ can't stand your cigars."

Beaming, Hannibal laughed as heartily as a man without a pain in the world. What pain could possibly dampen the love of a father for his sons?

**End**

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><p><strong><span>AN:**A huge thank you again to everyone who took the time to read! I hope you've enjoyed it :) Till next time,

~Strider


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